


The Chimaera Competition

by Eisoj5



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisoj5/pseuds/Eisoj5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <span class="u">Dark Force Rising</span>, Pellaeon and Thrawn have a new plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chimaera Competition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bofoddity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofoddity/gifts).



Captain Pellaeon stared out into the unrelenting void as the _Chimaera_ cruised silently between worlds. If the Jedi Master C’baoth had been standing anywhere nearby, or, for that matter, anywhere on the entire ship, he could have easily picked up on Pellaeon’s tension. To be sure, though, even a blind and deaf gundark could have sensed his inner turmoil. If Pellaeon had not been so engrossed in his own thoughts, he would have realized his officers were all studiously avoiding him.

He had arranged the events of the next few days himself, personally approved all the requests and scheduling changes, made double- and triple-certain of all the security details. But now that the time was at hand . . . well. He would never admit it aloud, but he was more nervous now than he had been in years. In decades. Dealing with these people . . .

But there was nothing more to be done. It was time.

Pellaeon turned sharply on his heel and entered the conference room. Surveying the assembled bunch of ragtag visitors around the table, he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Welcome to the Chimaera, ladies and gentlemen. This is _Work of Art: The Empire’s Next Great Artist_.”

The human clapped politely while the Zeltron next to him applauded much more enthusiastically, catching Pellaeon’s eye and winking. The Gektl hissed in what Pellaeon interpreted as an approving manner.

And Rukh . . . Rukh merely inclined his head a fraction of a degree, but Pellaeon could swear he bared his teeth ever so slightly in what could pass for a smile. Pellaeon had been reluctant to include Rukh as a competitor, citing to Thrawn the possibility of a conflict of interest, but the Noghri was nothing if not _extremely_ persuasive.

He continued. “The four of you have been selected out of thousands as the galaxy’s most promising young new artists. Over the course of the next few days, you will compete in challenges that test your artistic creativity and skill. You will be scored on each challenge; the winner will be the artist who has earned the most points over the course of the competition.”

The artists nodded in understanding, so he went on. “The winner of _Work of Art: The Empire’s Next Great Artist_ will be rewarded with a special showing, for the galaxy’s most renowned critics, in Grand Admiral Thrawn’s exclusive gallery aboard the _Chimaera_.”

It wasn’t the galaxy’s most amazing prize, especially given the Empire’s current circumstances, but then, it wasn’t supposed to be. He felt a smirk twist his lips.

“Let’s meet the judges. Your head judge is Grand Admiral Thrawn himself, a noted collector of the galaxy’s best works of art.” Out of the corner of his eye, Pellaeon saw Thrawn turn his implacable gaze on each of the artists, one by one. Only Rukh and the human didn’t flinch or look away. He made a mental note to observe the human, a male with a decidedly unmilitary hairstyle, more closely.

“Dreyba, the famous Hutt sculptor.” It had been a bit of work coaxing Dreyba to make a public appearance, and the Hutt had demanded a number of unusual conditions. But Thrawn had insisted that he would be a good judge.

“And finally, Bahzel, the renowned painter of such works as ‘Bothan Buff’ and ‘Bothan Beauty’.” When Thrawn and Pellaeon had gone over judge selection together, Thrawn had spent a remarkable amount of time on the finer points of Bothan nudes, enough to make Pellaeon wonder. Meeting Bahzel had alleviated his discomfort a good deal; the small amount of fur she _did_ display rippled now and again as she moved, but she was hardly the exhibitionist he had feared.

He touched a panel set into the table, and a door across the room slid open. “The next room will be your workspace for the duration of the competition. It is a studio fully stocked with the materials to which you’re accustomed, but you may request additional supplies using the comlinks you’ve been provided.”

“Your first challenge is to create a work of art that best represents your culture. Naturally, though each of your worlds is renowned for one type of art or another, the judges will be looking to see how well you are able to integrate that style with your own.” He checked his chrono. “You have one day to complete your artwork, beginning now.”

Pellaeon caught Thrawn’s eye as the artists hurried away to their studio. The Grand Admiral nodded, with the barest hint of a smile, and Pellaeon was pleased. And relieved. Their plan, as strange as it had seemed when Thrawn proposed it, had been set in motion.

*****

The next day, the studio had been tidied up in order to display the artists’ work. Pellaeon led the judges over to the human’s display first. “This is Morg--”

“Use the title I gave you,” the human said.

Pellaeon shot him a glare that conveyed the depths of his distaste. He received a mocking smirk in return, which he ignored. “Tell us about your work.”

“Where I come from, it’s all about money. So I created a papier-mâché version of my home planet out of money. Each continent is depicted with the most dominant country’s currency.” He picked up a small device and held it close to the colorful globe. “And this greed is destroying my world.” A movement of his thumb, and the whole piece caught on fire.

“Provocative,” Bahzel said, taking a hasty step backwards. Thrawn did not move but merely folded his arms, regarding the flaming ball calmly until the fire suppression system activated.

The Gektl had created a painted egg, in keeping with her world’s customary art form. Pellaeon suspected she had even laid it herself. But she had carefully cracked the lower half of it, so that the broken pieces lay scattered across the top of the pedestal with the dome resting at a lopsided angle.

“An interesting subversion of the traditional form,” Thrawn said. He leaned closer to inspect the broken eggshell. “The cracking technique is similar to that practiced by sculptors on Ealor.”

Pellaeon had never heard of Ealor. Neither, apparently, had anyone else, judging from the baffled glances the Gektl and the judges threw at each other.

Somehow, in the space of a single day, Rukh had carved the entire history of his clan into a single wood panel that spanned the length of the studio. Even Thrawn raised an eyebrow, a sure sign of being impressed, though he noted aloud that the work was rather predictable.

Dyni Endarsin, the Zeltron, had gone a wholly unpredictable route, with an abstract painting of what she explained was HoloFunWorld. Pellaeon watched, bemused, as Dreyba attempted to contort in various ways to make the painting intelligible.

*****

Pellaeon handed out datapads to the artists in a corridor outside the hangar bay. “The scores for your first challenge have been posted to your new datapads,” he said.

The artists looked down at the scores displayed in front of them, then quickly looked back up as it became apparent Pellaeon wasn’t finished. “Your second challenge is to create a piece to be displayed on each of the Dreadnaughts we recovered from the _Katana_ fleet.” The hangar bay door opened onto what looked like a disaster area.

“Using materials from a decommissioned _Katana_ vessel,” he added, watching the artists’ stunned reactions with satisfaction. “You have two days to complete your artwork,” he said, and then left them to it.

*****

Pellaeon stepped into Thrawn’s private command center, mercifully unhindered by Rukh, for once. “Reporting as requested, sir,” he said. “You wanted an update on the artists’ progress?”

Thrawn shook his head. “That will be unnecessary.” He tapped a switch on the armrest of his chair, and a viewscreen cleared to show the artists at work in the hanger bay. “But we do have the other aspect of the plan to discuss.”

“Of course.” Pellaeon shifted slightly on his feet, at a loss for words.

“You are still uncertain of the wisdom of this course of action,” Thrawn said. “Trust me, Captain. This competition will prove me out.” He smiled, and the red glow of his inhuman eyes seemed to warm slightly. “When it comes to art, have I ever been wrong before?”

*****

The judges started with Rukh’s piece for the next session. The Noghri had melted down several different components of the ship, and forged--

“It is a sword?” Bahzel asked.

“It is a katana, made from the _Katana_ ,” Rukh corrected her, baring his teeth in a Noghri grin. Pellaeon was impressed in spite of himself.

The--the _human_ , Pellaeon thought derisively, refusing to acknowledge the man’s chosen name even in the privacy of his own mind, had built a scale model of a _Katana_ ship. Only it appeared to be in the process of exploding, as parts and exposed wiring jutted out from its sides at all angles.

“Displaying a model of a disintegrating ship on _the ship itself_ is not inspiring,” Thrawn said, disapproval evident in his voice.

Dyni had welded struts together into some kind of abstract sculpture. She shrugged when the judges expressed confusion. “I’m not so great with tangible art.”

Somehow the Gektl had managed to make an egg out of ship parts. Dreyba heaved a sigh at the sight of it, while Bahzel’s fur lay completely flat, a sure sign of lack of interest. Even Thrawn was visibly bored.

*****

“The cumulative scores for the previous challenges are again on your datapads. While there were some definite missteps with the _Katana_ challenge, this is still a competition that any one of you can win.”

The Gektl hissed to herself softly as she reviewed the scores.

“Your final challenge is to create a piece of propaganda for the Empire.” Pellaeon had gone over the specific wording of each challenge well in advance with Thrawn, and had argued that this one in particular was bound to raise some hackles. He braced himself.

But no one even so much as blinked. Pellaeon shrugged. Perhaps Thrawn was right, and the New Republic’s hold on the galaxy was not as strong as it believed.

“You may use any materials you like in this challenge. Your only constraint is that the final piece must be able to be displayed on board any Imperial vessel without hindering its normal operations.” He smiled slightly. “That includes TIE fighters.”

The artists groaned in unison.

Pellaeon was unsympathetic. “You have one day to complete your artwork. Your time begins now.”

*****

On the final day of the competition, Pellaeon stood a respectful distance back from the judges as they examined Dyni’s holosculpture.

The Zeltron’s artwork featured a stormtrooper. A stormtrooper gyrating like a cantina dancer.

“I got one of the unit commanders to lend me his armor,” Dyni was explaining. “Then I chose to use the turbolift to juxtapose the isolation and anonymity of armor with the individuality of stormtroopers today.” She leaned one elbow on the edge of the display and smiled at Thrawn.

Who said, sounding just a shade amused, “The stormtroopers are all clones.”

In contrast to the Zeltron’s somewhat obscure meaning, Rukh’s propaganda piece was very straightforward. It was a painting of a single Noghri knife emblazoned with a heavily stylized Imperial symbol, stabbed into the center of a map of the galaxy. Which was also in the shape of the Imperial symbol.

“Not very subtle,” Bahzel commented.

“Stealth is not always what is called for,” Rukh retorted. Pellaeon hustled the judges on to the next artwork before Rukh began showing his teeth.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the Gektl had made yet another a painted egg. It was, however, more intricately and elegantly decorated than usual, and somehow managed to display the Imperial symbol when viewed from every angle in some kind of optical illusion.

“I thought it was small enough to hang in a TIE fighter, yet eye-catching enough to be displayed in even the largest Cruiser,” she said through the translator.

Rolling his eyes, Dreyba made a motion as if to crush it in a hand. “Impractical for mass production.”

“This is an art competition!” the Gektl protested. “Not some crass, commercial--”

“It is an impressive piece,” Thrawn soothed her. “However, some consideration of the practicalities of the challenge might have been wise.” Pellaeon was certain he saw the Gektl rudely flicking her tongue at the Hutt as they turned towards the last artist, whose artwork was--

Pellaeon fought down a sudden, horrifyingly undisciplined urge to leap forward and cover the Grand Admiral’s eyes.

“That . . . ” Bahzel’s fur rippled wildly. “That is . . .”

“That,” said the Sucklord proudly, “is two stormtroopers fucking.”

*****

The end.

*****

*****

*****

*****

*****

(Maybe.)

*****

*****

*****

*****

*****

Hours later, when the proverbial dust had settled over the vulgarity perpetrated in front of the Empire’s supreme commander, Pellaeon stood before the assembled artists for the final time. He felt the gentle vibrations of the _Chimaera_ dropping into normal space and smiled tightly to himself. Despite the . . . unseemliness of what had occurred, everything was still on schedule.

“The judges have made their final decision. Your cumulative scores for the competition have been totaled.” He dispensed with any tension-building hesitation and got straight to the point, distasteful as it was. “The winner of _Work of Art: The Empire’s Next Great Artist_ is Mor--the Sucklord.”

The human’s jaw dropped in amazement as the other three artists crowded around to congratulate him. Dyni was particularly expressive, Pellaeon noticed.

On cue, Thrawn stepped into the room. “Congratulations,” he said, startling the artists into silence. “Morgan, would you like to see the gallery where you’ll be showing?” He gestured towards the turbolift.

The Sucklord nodded. Pellaeon noticed that he didn’t object to _Thrawn’s_ use of his given name. He and Rukh got in the turbolift with them.

The lift door opened onto Thrawn’s command center, currently in what Pellaeon thought of as “gallery mode”. The human practically leaped out of the lift, and stared around at the alien works on display.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be showing on a fucking spaceship!” he said, turning back to Thrawn. “Thank you, Grand Admiral, for this amazing opportunity--”

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet,” Thrawn said. The art gallery vanished, replaced by the viewscreen. “You have one more challenge to complete.”

A planet was slowly coming into view as the _Chimaera_ moved into position. It was a blue-green world, swirling with white clouds.

Thrawn continued as the other man gazed, entranced, at it. “Your artwork showed your culture to be the most diverse we’ve ever encountered. The Empire will be greatly enriched by its addition.”

His glowing eyes bored into the Sucklord. “You will assist me in conquering it.”

*****

The end!

**Author's Note:**

> This was a really fun story to write--I've always loved the Thrawn trilogy, but had never considered writing fic for it (uh, beyond that one Mara-and-Luke-get-married story when I was twelve) until it popped up as an eligible fandom for Yuletide! The "Work of Art" part...well, that was one of those half-asleep inspirations that just had to be written. I have to confess to having only seen one episode of that show, but I figured Thrawn would want to put his own spin on it anyway! And...the Sucklord was just too great to pass up. I learned about him mainly through a Village Voice piece on his artwork, which does include the stormtroopers fucking! I hope you enjoyed the story, as strange as it ended up being, and happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks to Lexie and Isis for being my fabulous and awesome betas!


End file.
